come on, baby, stare into my fire
by She's a Star
Summary: Luke. Lorelai. Camping. 'Nuff said.


**Title:** come on, baby, stare into my fire  
**Pairing:** Luke/Lorelai  
**Spoilers:** set post-series  
**Word Count:** 1,127  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Luke. Lorelai. Camping.  
**Author's Note:** So, I actually wrote this several months ago, and I finally decided, heck, why not let it see the light of day at last?

* * *

"I'm cold."

"We're outside."

"Yeah, but it's summer. Summer is supposed to mean we don't have to worry about the whole cold thing. So what gives?"

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"_Summer_, Luke! A time during which jackets have no meaning! A time during which you – you banish them to the deepest recesses of your closet, never to be thought of again!"

"Which is why you're cold."

"Well, I don't want to be cold!"

"Then you should have listened to me about the jacket thing."

"How was I supposed to know that you were serious?"

"Do I usually joke about jackets?"

"I never know with you! You've got that weird humor that pops up all over the place, all wry and inscrutable. You're like one of those movies that I never know whether to laugh at or just get really depressed over. Wes Anderson would have a field day with you, my friend."

"I was serious about the jacket."

"Well, yeah, I get that now! Now that it's too late, and I'm _freezing_ to death!"

"Lorelai?"

"Yeah? Hey, are my teeth chattering? And – is it just me, or am I turning blue? I mean, obviously I can't see myself, so it's your call on this one, baby."

"Lorelai?"

"_What?_"

"You want my coat?"

"Aww, Luke! That is so _thoughtful_ of you!"

"I'm a thoughtful guy."

"That you would just save me from hypothermia like that, without any hints or prompting or guilt tripping to push you in that direction—"

"What can I say? Intuition is my specialty."

"No doubt about that, hot stuff."

"Better now?"

"Warm and toasty, thanks to my hero over here."

"Don't mention it."

"So. When does the camping start?"

"We _are_ camping."

"No. We're sitting. Outside. Outside. Sitting. _That_ is not camping."

"Well, then, I musta been doing something wrong all these years."

"Come on! Aren't we supposed to hike some mountains? Climb a tree? Wrangle a grizzly bear?"

"Weirdly enough, there aren't a whole lotta grizzly bears around here."

"Yeah, because they sensed us coming and they fled in fear. Rightfully so, might I add. Now, seriously. What do you do?"

"This."

"This? Really?"

"Really."

"So all the times you've gone camping, over all the years I've known you, it's just been so you could come out and sit in the woods?"

"And stare into the fire. Staring into the fire is an essential step."

"Ah, yes! How could I forget staring into the fire?"

"Hey, don't knock it."

"And so that's just what we're doing? Sitting? I could _sit_ at home on my couch, and at least then I'd have sitcom reruns to keep me company. Out here, I have to provide my own witty banter _and_ my own laugh track."

"You're not gonna do your laugh track impression again, are you?"

"Quick. Say something witty."

"No."

"Luuuke, come on."

"No way. Not happening."

"If you think that your – let's face it – insipid contributions to this conversation are going to stop me from doing the laugh track impression, then you're wrong, mister."

"You're going to scare the animals."

"Pshh! _What_ animals?"

"They're around."

"No, Luke. The thing is, they're not. Because clearly _they_ got the memo about how boring this was going to be. Lucky little bastards."

"Lorelai—"

"Ahahahaha – ahhhahahaha – hehehehehe! – oh ho ho ho—"

"Oh, jeez."

"Shut up. You love my laugh track impression. Don't try to deny it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you find it the sexiest thing about me."

"Oh, no question there. Who doesn't want a woman who can chortle like a jolly old fat guy?"

"And don't forget guffaw! I am an excellent guffawer."

"Top notch guffawer."

"Thank God I have a boyfriend who appreciates my unique talents. Even if he _is_ a big weirdo freak who likes to spend his time hanging out in the cold, boring woods."

"Says the woman with her own laugh track impression."

"I'm just saying. Even Thoreau had a house."

"You know, we didn't have to do this. It was your idea in the first place."

"Well, yeah, because it's your thing."

"My thing."

"Your thing. Your big Luke thing."

"Is this supposed to sound like innuendo?"

"Nope! Pure happy coincidence there, buddy."

"You have a gift."

"Don't I? But . . . I dunno. Camping. It's one of those things that you do. One of those essential Lukelike activities. And I just feel like maybe this time around, I should make more of an effort to be a part of said activities. So that maybe someday it could even be a LukeandLorelailike activity. That is, if you're okay with that."

"I'm okay with that."

"You are?"

"Very, very okay. I might even be great with it."

"'Great'? That's some pretty enthusiastic word choice from Sits Boringly In Front Of Camp Fires Guy."

"Yeah, well. What can I say?"

"And if the camping thing doesn't work out, there's always other options. For instance, you could teach me how to make a kickass cheeseburger."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"What? What is there to be not so sure about??"

"You have trouble _stirring_."

"Please! I've mastered stirring. I can stir with the best of 'em now."

"This would involve touching raw meat, you know. And turning raw meat into cooked meat. And chopping things, and using the oven—"

"Okay, okay, okay! I get it. Creating a kickass cheeseburger would kick _my_ ass."

"Pretty much."

"So I guess there's a lot of pressure riding on this whole camping thing working out, huh?"

"Well, there's always fishing."

"Oh, honey. We've done fishing. There is no going back to fishing."

"Really? I thought you kinda got the hang of it by the end there."

"Well, yeah, but then the fish died."

"What?"

"Rory and I kept her in the bathtub for a couple of days, and it was nice, and everything was great, and then she died. And it was a very trying experience, and I just don't think I'm ready to go through it again."

"You know, most people kill the fish and eat them."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

"Not fishing, then."

"Not fishing."

"Got it."

"But that's okay. I think I might be getting the hang of this. In fact, I feel like my broody fire-stare is really improving. Not to mention my thumb-twiddling. Combine the broody stare and the thumb-twiddling, and I could do this all night."

"Really?"

"Why? Was there something else you wanted to do all night, _nudge nudge wink wink_?"

"Mighta been. But don't let me interrupt your thumb-twiddling."

"Darn right I won't."

…

"Okay, enough thumb-twiddling."

"Glad to hear it."


End file.
